


i crash my car 'cause i wanna get carried away!

by scoutshonour



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Nancy Wheeler, Panic Attacks, Pre-Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 00:02:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: "It was an accident," Nancy started to explain. Her hand trembled and she nearly dropped the pair of scissors onto the kitchen floor, some locks of her hair still caught in between the sheaths. She said it was an accident, and it was, except it'd been coming for months.(or: the story behind Nancy's haircut)





	i crash my car 'cause i wanna get carried away!

**Author's Note:**

> title from "i wanna get better" by the bleachers, strongly recommend it. i've never heard a recovery anthem quite like it. 
> 
> unbeta'd + wrote this really quickly.

Those handful of days happened too quickly for it to have changed Nancy the way they did.

When it was all over, after her and Jonathan and Steve fought monsters together, after Will was brought home, she would remember collapsing onto her bed.

She curled up underneath her sheets. She could still smell the hospital, the sterile and clinical odour that didn't match the warmth of the room. Could still imagine her brother’s smile at seeing Will, despite how exhausted he looked.

It wasn't that long ago that Steve was here with her, being stupid and adorable and stupidly adorable. Even more recently, Jonathan slept on these same sheets. She remembered how he laid stiffly next to her, but was loose-limbed and looked more peaceful than she had ever seen him come morning. 

This house shouldn't have been so quiet. If one of them were here, it wouldn't be. If Steve was here, he'd hold her, she'd hide her face in his shoulder, cut him off after his sixth apology with a kiss, tell him that he was officially the best baseball player on the team. If Jonathan was here, she'd laugh at his music taste, maybe even ask him to dance with her.

If they were both here, it might've been awkward. It might not have been. But it wouldn't be this damn quiet.

But they weren't here, and she shouldn't have wanted them, because then that'd mean she  _needed_ them.

She didn't.

Because she needed her best friend.

But Barb was dead, and she wasn't even in a fucking grave, wouldn't get a gravestone, a funeral, or a memorial, not even a 'beloved daughter'. Not a proper ending to a story that never had the chance to really start.

No one would know what happened.

But _Nancy_ knew. Her brother, his friends, Steve, Jonathan, hell, even the Chief of Police at this point _—_ they knew, and they couldn't say anything.

And logically, she didn't directly end Barb's life, but come on. _Come on._ She couldn't look at the clothes she wore that night without feeling nauseous and threw them out, hiding them under old takeout so her mom wouldn't question it. She couldn't _think_ about a pool. Guilt wasn't even a feeling anymore, it was just as much of Nancy as her nails, her hair.

She spent that day in bed, then the next, and the next. She had spent the past few days hunting, searching, fighting. She didn't think about what would happen after it was all over, because there wasn't time to worry about  _guilt_ or  _grief_ in the middle of a battle.

But the battle was over. Now she was here, not knowing what to do with the mess pouring out of her.

On the third day, her mother came into her room and sat on the edge of her bed. She placed a tray of freshly-baked cookies next to Nancy and reached towards her. As her hands smoothed over Nancy's hair, she murmured, "They'll find her, baby, they will. Will came home, didn't he?"

It only made Nancy cry harder.

"Oh, Nancy," she sighed, scooping her up into her arms. Nancy couldn't remember the last time she cried in front of her mother. The ache in her chest deepened, but her shoulders felt lighter as she ruined her mother's cashmere sweater with snot and tears.

"I know it's hard, and you can still spend the rest of the week home, but you need to live your life. Locking yourself here won't help Barb or you. People love you. People are here for you. You know that Harrington boy keeps calling."

Nancy wiped her face. She knew that. Her mother would always tell her he was on the line, but she waved him away. _Sorry, honey, she's not feeling too well,_ or _she's sleeping,_ were prominent excuses. She felt bad. She wanted to give him a chance, but when she thought of him, she thought of his ridiculously large pool, and _—_

"What's he saying?"

Her mother smiled down at her. "Oh, nothing," she said, her thumb rubbing against Nancy's cheek, "just that he wants your hand in marriage."

"Mom," Nancy said, not irritated in the slightest. Knowing Steve, it was likely her mom wasn't kidding.

"He can help keep you company so you don't have to be alone. Or Jonathan. I always liked him. Is that...do you...?" Her mother raised an eyebrow.

Nancy ignored the urge to hide her face underneath her mom's arm. "I like Steve," she said honestly.

"Okay," her mother dismissed.

Nancy wanted to interject that she didn't technically answer the question. But now wasn't the time to talk about how Steve's dumb hair, easy grin, and awful pick-up lines, _and_ how the crinkle Jonathan's eyes got whenever he smiled, warm hands, and stupid music taste were vastly different but relaxed her heart the same way.

Especially not with her mother.

"But how can I live my life, knowing _—not_ knowing what happened to my best friend?" _Knowing that she's dead? Knowing that I killed her? That monsters exist? That I almost died?_ Her eyes clouded with tears and she began to sob uncontrollably. This feeling, this ache in her chest, this had to be a heart attack. She  _had_ to be dying.  "Mom, it _—_ it hurts, it hurts everywhere, like it's terminal, I can't come back from this, I can't _ _—__ "

"Nancy," her mom gasped. Her eyes widened with tears. She cupped Nancy’s cheeks, holding her, and Nancy let herself be held. "If you put one foot in front of the other, go through the motions, just—just keep moving forward, telling yourself you're okay, then eventually you will be. I promise, okay? You will be."

Nancy could pretend.

She could at least try.

* * *

So Nancy answered Steve's calls, kissed him five weeks later after a dozen maybe-dates, but still called Jonathan nearly every night.

They gave Jonathan the camera for Christmas. After the break, Jonathan gave her a mix-tape. A few weeks after that, he gave one to Steve.

She ate lunch everyday with Steve and Jonathan, the former’s arm always around her shoulder, her feet always brushing against the latter’s underneath the table. For them, it started with their elbows brushing, then pinkies, then fingers loosely locked on the table as if Nancy didn't notice. As if _they_ didn't even notice.

She missed one week of school then went back. Never missed a day, never struggled with school.

She tried to be there for Mike. But he wasn't going to talk about it, so she watched whatever movie he wanted to watch when his friends were busy and he only needed someone breathing next to him.

She drew flowers and suns and coloured with Holly.

She popped in and helped her mother bake cookies.

She willed herself to say _good morning_ and _good night_ to her dad. Even when the mere sight of her mother pouring coffee she made for him while he didn't even spare her a glance made her uneasy, sick with rage and foreboding.

She did it. She put one foot in front of the other. She told herself it was okay. That she was okay.

She pretended.

She tried.

It didn't work.

* * *

Full disclosure: Nancy blamed _Total Eclipse of The Heart_ for this.

She would've been fine otherwise. Sprawled across her bed and laying on her stomach, she found her math homework calming. There was something about the mindlessness of solving equations, of the balance, of nothing but her, her pencil, and her notebook that made everything still. The world didn't feel like it was shaking underneath her when she got yet another math question correct.

She was going to kick her math test's _ass_ tomorrow. (Directly quoting Steve. She'd rolled her eyes at him when he said it, biting back a smile. She told him that tests didn't have asses. He said they did, only because she was going to kick it. She gave into the smile then and threw a leg over his lap, murmuring against his ear that he'd _nail_ his history presentation this Friday.

She expected the lightbulb to go off in his head, but he only stared. "Get it? _Nail?_ Because of your bat?"

He let out a startled laugh. "Technically, it isn't even my bat. It was yours first. Jonathan added the nails. I'm carrying _your_ guys'bat." She waited for him to say something to spoil the mood. Something nasty about Jonathan. She hated how easily the thought came to her, but their mutual hatred felt like a constant to her, a habit she'd yet to break. Even if they were really each other's only friends.

She waited, and all Steve said was, "Having it makes me feel safe."

Nancy would've teased him. But his voice went soft, cracking on the last syllable in a way she'd only ever heard back at Jonathan's house, when he banged on the front door to apologize. She stayed quiet and kissed his jaw instead.

A stark contrast to when she pushed him off the bed for saying: "But you know who's not going to feel safe? Your test's ass when you kick—")

Five equations and two word problems later, the song on her radio changed. Nancy immediately groaned. She knew this song. She hated this song. She hated that she _hated_ this song.

She'd called Jonathan pretentious dozens of times. She told him his music taste was terrible, even if she regularly listened to the mixtape he gave her and kept it under her bed.

And yet, as the song Jonathan spent ten minutes berating even _after_ Steve changed the station on their ride home from school began to play, she couldn't listen to it.

"Fucking Jonathan," she muttered. She rolled off her stomach and trudged towards the radio perched on her dresser.

She changed the stations a few times, stopping when she first recognized a song. Nancy paused. The title was lost on her, but it sounded so damn familiar, she _had_ to have—

Oh.

_Oh._

Her stomach lurched. The stillness she had doing homework shattered and all she could hear was this stupid fucking _song,_ just not sung by Bonnie Taylor, but by Barb.

Nancy always pestered Barb into showing her voice off. To sign up for school talent shows, join choir, sing at church. "You have a gift," she urged. "This crappy world needs to hear your beautiful voice to make it less crappy, don't you think?"

Barb would flush, roll her eyes like she didn't care about it. "You're saying that because you're morally obligated to as my friend," she said flatly, " and me, singing in front of people? That'll never happen. I'd rather die."

And _that_ memory didn't help with the sickening feeling clawing at her chest. Another memory surged, Barb singing _but now I'm only falling apart_ numerous times, in Nancy's room after school, on the end of her bed, in front of her mirror, in this exact spot that Nancy stood in—

Nausea hit. Then the tightness in her chest, squeezing, suffocating, constricting. She couldn't _breathe,_ she couldn't think, she couldn't, she couldn't—she couldn't fucking throw up on her carpeted floor, Jesus, her mom would kill her.

Later, she'd laugh about how of course it was that thought that brought her clarity.

After darting into her washroom, she sank to her knees so hurriedly she practically fell. She braced her hands on either side of the seat, and before she could think about how disgusting that was, she heaved. She waited for bile, for today's lunch, but nothing came.

Nothing except stupid, useless tears over a song.

She stayed there, her fingers still on the toilet seat, too shaken up to care. All she could hear were the words to the song. She didn't even know that she knew all the lyrics, but they kept _coming_ and  _coming,_ not from her radio, but her head. Nancy shut her eyes. Resigned, she let it wash over her.

Nancy remembered the warmth of Barb's voice. It was soft, gentle, a little raspy. It always made her catch her breath whenever Barb would randomly hum the to a song before forgetting everything around her, including Nancy, and lost herself to the words.  She tried to think about other songs that Barb sung in front of Nancy, but she couldn't remember what her voice sounded like save for that one song.

It occurred to her, then, that there'd probably be a day where she'd forget what Barb's singing sounded like at all.

Nancy would forget and Barb would rot. She probably already was.

She forced herself up. She bent down in front of the sink and splashed her face with ice cold water, but the tears kept coming and coming.

" _Fuck,_ " Nancy hissed. She stared at her face in the mirror, stared at her splotchy, red skin, her cloudy eyes, the hair caught in her mouth. She spit it out, suddenly seething with rage, and looked away from her reflection.

In the corner of her eyes, she saw a pair of scissors.

She thought about her grief, thought about it the same way she did in the days following everything, only a few months ago, how it felt like a part of her, as much as her own nails, her—

She wouldn't remember cutting her hair.

One second, she was staring at the pair of scissors with half of an idea. The next, her hair was caught on her shirt, the scissors, the sink, the floor. She cut more than what was left.

Nancy looked at herself in the reflection again. "What the _fuck,_ " she whispered, horrified because did she just—did she just _cut her hair_ without even looking in the mirror? Screw split ends, this was something else, the uneven bangs she'd accidentally given herself, the random strips cut off, the way the left side of her hair was definitely two inches shorter—near her ears, oh god—than her right side.

She looked like a Barbie toy that Holly ruined with a pair of scissors, probably the same one in Nancy's hand. 

Nancy felt itchy in her skin, unsettled and uncomfortable. She winded her fingers through her hair and yanked. Hard.

She wanted to scream, so she did.

" _Nancy Wheeler!_ " Her mother shrieked from downstairs.

 _Fuck_. "It's just hair," she muttered, gripping the pair of scissors tighter. Besides, she committed to the decision, even if she couldn't remember it. She might as well embrace it.

She walked calmly down the steps and watched her feet move, one in front of the other. When she walked into the kitchen to the sight of her mother, gaping, she realized she was still clutching the pair of scissors.

A magazine slid from her mother's grasp, her hands flying to her face. "Nancy, what did you do!?"

"It was an accident," Nancy started to explain. Her hand trembled and she nearly dropped the pair of scissors onto the kitchen floor. Locks of brown hair were still caught in between the sheaths. She said it was an accident, and it was, except it'd been coming for months.

"How do you accidentally cut your hair!?"

"I just, I needed the change and my _stupid_ hair kept getting in the way!" Nancy shouted. She jabbed the pair of scissors into the air and knew she was being irrational, knew she probably wake her sister up from her nap, but couldn't care. Not when she'd never hear _Total Eclipse of The Heart_ from her best friend again.

She saw understanding slowly flicker on her mother's face, a soft sigh pouring out of her mouth. She bent down and set the magazine on the kitchen counter. She walked towards Nancy and gently took the scissors away from her. "Well, a change is nice," she said carefully, "and now we know you won't go into hairstyling."

Nancy laughed dryly. "Mom," she said, "I look like a troll."

"Most adorable troll I've ever seen," she said solemnly. Her hands lowered to rub Nancy's shoulders and she found herself relaxing. "But I can fix it up. Take a seat, honey, give me one second."

She didn't know when she stopped believing her mother could fix anything, but it'd definitely been before today. She still took a seat at the dining table, touching her hair self-consciously. She wondered what Steve would say. He'd probably tell her she looked even cuter, or that he preferred her bald. Jonathan would probably joke that now she and Steve had matching haircuts.

"Here," her mother said, setting a cup of water in front of her. "I heard you screaming upstairs. You wanna talk?"

Nancy fiddled with the cup, before taking a sip. "I heard a song. It reminded me of her, she'd sing it all the time."

She stood behind Nancy, combing her fingers through her hair. "I didn't know she sang."

"She did. Never in front of people, though, she was too scared, I guess..." The words kept coming. Her mom kept responding, prompting more and more out of her. It was easy, thinking of all the good moments. She even admitted to the time they tried some of Barb's dad's beer, but it tasted like absolute garbage and they hated it. She talked about how every Valentine's day, they'd watch romance movies together. How this year's Valentine's Day was nice with Steve, but felt a little wrong without Barb.

She talked and talked and talked and it didn't even occur her until five minutes after her sat in the seat opposite to her that she had finished. "You're done?"

Her mom grinned. "Look in the mirror."

She raced to the upstairs washroom, nearly knocking into Mike.

"Hey, you can't just barge in here, I could've been—"

"What, masturbating with the door open?" Nancy snorted, ignoring Mike nudging her. She looked up at her reflection. Her breath caught in her throat.

It wasn't life-changing, nor was it going to be. She knew that. It was just hair. People grew their hair out or cut it off all the time. But looking at herself, not quite recognizing the person in front of her, but still intrigued,  _wanting_ to know whoever was looking back at her, it felt a little magical. The absence of hair touching her neck, her shoulders, was unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. 

Not uncomfortable at all. 

"You got a haircut?"

"I cut my hair, actually," Nancy said, touching the ends of her hair. It met the bottom of her ears. "It looked like shit. But mom fixed it."

"Oh." Mike looked at her reflection. He still looked exhausted, worn out, hollow. It hit Nancy that she looked the exact same. "I like it. It's different, but it's very you."

Nancy felt the urge to crush him into a hug, but she didn’t. Instead, she ruffled his hair and said, "Now if only you'd fix that awful bowl-cut."

Mike rolled his eyes as if he wasn't smiling. "Bite me."

"You know Holly bit me the other day?"

“She bit me too! The fuck?”

“ _Hey,_ watch the language, you two!” Their mom's voice boomed from downstairs.

She caught his eye and burst into laughter. For the first time in a long time, even before the Upside Down stole things from them both, Mike laughed with her. 

* * *

Nancy didn't go to school the next day. Or that Friday.

She called Steve Friday morning and told him to swing by her room that afternoon. "Bring Jonathan," she added, "and come through my window."

"You think Jonathan Byers can climb your house?"

"He beat you up, didn't he?"

"He didn't beat me up, and I laid one on him too!"

"Which is why Jonathan came out of that fight without a scratch on his face, but your entire face was fucked up?"

"Fucked...leave me alone, why are you _harassing me,_ I'll bring Jon over, just—"

" _Jon?_ " Nancy said, incredulous but deeply amused. "When did that become a thing?"

"What—stop—I'm pleading the fifth, Nance, I don't need to answer that."

"Okay, weirdo," she interrupted, chuckling, "shut up and tell me you'll come."

"Yeah, of course," he said earnestly, and she knew he was about to say something serious because he didn't note how he couldn't tell her _and_ shut up. "Are you, Nance, are you okay? I know you told me you are, but I'm worried. So is Jon _athan._ Your immune system is flawless. When Jonathan got me sick, and yeah, he got me sick, not the other way around, and the both of us were sick for two solid weeks, you never coughed or sneezed once. So is it something else...?"

Nancy licked her lips. "Yeah, it—look, we'll talk, okay? The three of us."

"The three of us," Steve repeated slowly. "Okay. I, uh, I miss you." His voice grew soft. Nancy realized it'd been two whole days since she'd seen him, and yeah, she missed him too. She also missed— "Jonathan also misses you. He won't admit it, 'cuz he's too cool even though he's lame, but. But he does. It's weird without you there."

"But you two are getting along okay, right?"

"Yeah," Steve blurted, "we're good. It's just better with you, you know?"

Nancy smiled, twirling the cord. She felt like a ditzy teen, her heart fluttering and smile deepening, and she _loved_ it. "I miss you, too. Good luck on your presentation. You're going to kick its ass."

"I thought tests didn't have asses."

"Tests don't, but presentations do."

"Oh, I see," he teased, smile in his voice, "and? You like 'em more than mine?"

"Nah, no one has a better ass than you," she said seriously, dropping her voice because her mother _was_ also in the kitchen with her. "Except for me."

"Hmm, I dunno, Nance. Byers is _packing._ "

She laughed, catching her mother turn her head from the dining table at the noise. Nancy flushed, but returned her mom's smile. "You've been checking him out, have you?"

"What—these accusations!" It was the highness of his voice, the slight tremble, that had her eyebrows knitting. "My own lady doth accuse me of such heinous crimes?"

"I mean," she said, blurting it out before she could change her mind, "you wouldn't be the only one."

"What?"

"Does that bother you?"

"Does what bother me? You checking Jon's ass out or me checking his ass out?"

" _What?_ "

"Um—nothing?" Steve's voice cracked. She pictured him in that moment: his wince, his eyes shut out of embarrassment, his hand furiously tousling his hair. If she was there, she'd reach out, take his hand into hers.

But she wasn't there, and whatever she said in the next ten seconds could break or make everything.

Slowly and carefully, she said, "Mine is nicer, right?"

"Yeah," Steve exhaled, "of course. So, we're good, right?"

"We're good. I'll see you. Bring Jonathan tonight. Or should I say _Jon?_ "

"You should say goodbye, 'cuz I'm hanging up on you," he laughed, "see you later. I hope you're feeling better, Nance."

"I am," she said, surprised by how much she meant it.

* * *

Nancy didn't give Steve a time, but she knew they were here when she heard their unsubtle, loud whisper-shouting from her room.

"Stop stepping on my shoulder, you shit for brains—"

"You're the one who _insisted_ I go first in case I fall when you've fallen three times, yeah, Mike told Will, he told me, how does it feel to know that I have better coordination than you?"

"Better—have you seen yourself in gym class? Huh?" But Steve was laughing, and so was Jonathan.

"Look, in real life, I won't have to ever catch a volleyball—"

"Oh my God, you don't _catch_ a volleyball."

"—but I would fight people or monsters if I needed to. We know I can do that, don’t we?"

"You didn't break my nose, so were you really that good? But you did rearrange my face, so—"

"I'm sorry, you know that right, I didn't mean, I mean I _did,_ but it's different—"

"Dude, shut up, I know, can't we joke about it now? Go, make a joke about how I broke your camera.”

Nancy drew to her feet. She stepped slowly towards the window and sat right beside it, pressing her ears against the pink wall.

"Can I joke about how you bought me a new camera without telling me? Wait, don't—Steve!"

Nancy jumped up, popping her head through her opened window. She grabbed Jonathan's hands without thinking, her main concern being that _he_ didn't fall out of shock. "Steve! Are you—?"

"Holy shit. You guys!" Steve was laughing, his cheeks noticeably red, looking up at them from the ground. His grin widened when he saw Nancy. "Your hair! Nance, you cut—"

"Shut up about my hair, are you okay!? Where's your concussion?"

"In my head? If I had one, 'cuz I don't, since I landed on my feet!"

Jonathan shook his head with his eyes focussed on Steve. Nancy watched him intently, his face illuminated by moonlight, the corner of his mouth curved upwards. "He really is a cat," he murmured to her, the fondness in his voice unmistakable.

She chuckled, thinking back to a few weeks ago. (She and Jonathan were already squeezed on Jonathan's bed, so when Steve entered the room, having brought three water bottles from the kitchen, he set them down by the floor. Shrugged. Laid on them both.

Nancy was used to it. She welcomed his touch with a hand in his hair as he buried his head in her waist.

Jonathan froze. His eyes widened and he like he had no idea what to do with Steve's lower half of his body on his lap. He tentatively dropped his hand onto Steve's ankle, but still looked uncomfortable.

Nancy would've told Steve to get off of him, but then she noticed the flush in Jonathan's cheeks. "He's an actual cat," she snorted, poking Steve's stomach. _Do you mind,_ she mouthed, as Steve meowed against her sweater.

Jonathan's blush deepened when she rested her hand against his knee. He shook his head, and that was that.)

"I, uh, like the hair," Jonathan said, gesturing sheepishly with a tip of his chin. His thumb stroked the scar on her palm.

"You're just saying that," she said, wryly smiling.

"No, I mean it! It's different.” When he said that, she knew it was a compliment.

She flushed, both from his words and from realizing they were still holding hands. She didn't let go. "I look like I'm eight years old," she deadpanned, "but thank you. It's, I don't know, weird, but that's just our lives now, isn't it? I mean, right now, you and Steve Harrington are sneaking into my room. At the same time. He just fell off and landed on his _feet._ Like, the fuck?"

Jonathan laughed, his eyes crinkling. "Aren't you worried for him?"

"If he was hurt, we'd be hearing him moan about how he was going to die. He's fine. Now," she said, raising her voice, "are you idiots coming in, or what?"

They climbed in, Jonathan first, then Steve. Despite what Nancy said, she fussed over Steve, rubbing the back of his head the same way he did to her as Jonathan sat at the edge of Nancy's bed.

"You just, cut it off?"

"I needed a change. Do you like it?"

"You're gorgeous either way, even if you were bald," he said, his eyes sparkling, and she giggled. "Also, this haircut is pretty hot." He pulled her close, a hand on her waist, and said against her ear, "Jon probably agrees."

She swatted at his arm, hating how her cheeks warmed up. "You probably had a great view of his ass down there, didn't you? I bet you liked that, huh," she whispered. She grabbed his hand and yanked him towards her bed before he could reply back.

She laid down. Steve naturally settled next to her, his head fitting in the crook of her neck. "C'mere," she said, footing Jonathan's thigh.

He swallowed. He eyed her and Steve's entwined bodies, and joined them, sliding into the space next to Nancy. "So. Are you okay?"

"I'm just tired of pretending it never happened," she blurted. "I do it, and it just hurts even more when I remember, and I think—I think I want to."

"So let's not pretend," Jonathan said, like it was the easiest thing in the world, "at least with each other. We can talk about it. Whenever. _You_ can talk about it, if you want.”

"D'ya wanna talk about it?"

She kissed the top of Steve's head. "Not right now," she murmured, not including how she mostly didn't want to cry in front of either of them quite yet. Right now, all she wanted was just— "Can you turn on the radio?"

"The things I do for you," he said, exaggerating his sigh as he rolled off the bed and trudged towards her dresser.

"You loooove me," she sung, face falling when she realized what she'd said.

Steve's back was facing them, but she saw him pause as he was a few inches away from her dresser. Saw his shoulders stiffen. Saw them relax. "And?" he said softly.

"And yet you won't turn the radio on for her," Jonathan said.

Nancy laughed against his shoulder. Butterflies swarmed her stomach when his feet brushed against hers before he decisively kept them in place, skin touching skin.

"Shut up, I'm _getting_ to it." He fiddled with the radio. "Ugh, this song is depressing. Jon, you probably love it."

_Turn around, every now and then I get a little bit—_

"Nance? You want me to change the song?"

"No," she said firmly. "It was Barb's favourite."

She didn't look at their faces, but she felt Jonathan's scar press against hers, and when Steve returned to her bed, felt his arm wrap around her shoulder and tug her close.

"Turn around," she said lowly, her voice slightly cracking, "every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to—oh c'mon, I _know_ you two know the words to this song. Jonathan, don't you dare tell me this is too mainstream for you, I will push you out my window."

Steve reached over Nancy and tapped his fingers against Jonathan's arm. "Turn around, every now and then I get a little bit nervous that—"

"—The best of all the years have gone by," Jonathan finished, not really singing. The words came out flat, but she knew they'd get him _singing_ soon enough.

They were completely belting by the chorus, screeching to the ceiling, " _And I need you now tonight—_ "

"NANCY, why are you singing so loudly!? And _who_ is in your bedroom?"

They laughed, and they didn't stop singing.

* * *

A few days later, Nancy asked Steve if they could go to his house.

She ignored his questions as she strode determinedly towards his backyards. She blinked once before jumping into his pool.

Once fully submerged, her feet scraped the bottom of the pool. She opened her eyes and saw blue nothingness, her eyes burning in the best way possible. For a second, she couldn't breathe. For a second, she was back to the night of the party. For a second, she imagined, not for the first time, the sight of Barb, crying and cold and alone. For a second, she imagined Barb's rotting corpse.

But then she conjured up the image of Barb's smile. Of her closed eyes, mouth in a half-grin when she was _really_ into a song. Her arms wrapped around Nancy in one of her crushing, loving hugs. How whenever she was sarcastic, she'd always use Nancy's full name, carefully enunciating each syllable like it mattered. She didn't think of Barb's last words, but all the words that she did get to say.

This was her not pretending.

This was her remembering.

She swallowed her fear, swallowed the exploding panic in her chest, probably swallowed some water too, and rose to the surface.

She laughed when she met their gaze, treading the water with an enthusiasm she hadn't felt in awhile. She paid attention to how the water felt against her skin. To how she wasn't drowning, but floating.

They both looked amused, hints of grins on their mouths. Steve already had his shirt off. "Can we come in?"

"What is this _we_ nonsense?" But Jonathan wasn't backing away from Steve, who held his arms out to push him in. He reached out towards Steve instead and raised an eyebrow.

They kept their arms raised, poised for an attack, only to join hands a few moments later. Nancy felt the same butterflies, watching them smile awkwardly as they squeezed each other's hands, then when they turned to look at her.

"Well?" Jonathan asked, smiling down at her. "Can we?"

Nancy ran a hand through her wet hair. She thought about Barb, about how she'd run her fingers through best friend's short hair, how now, they practically had the same haircut.

Barb always wanted to grow her hair out. She never would.

But Nancy could grow her hair back out. She could swim in pools, kiss a boy, maybe even two, braid her sister's hair, play her brother's games. She could do that.

She could remember little things like a Bonnie Tyler song, because it meant something. They won in some ways, but it'd always be a loss for Nancy, and the world would forget, it already was, but she wouldn't. She'd remember and nothing could take that away from her. 

She could also get something that no one else could: Barb's ending. Starting with that lab. Starting with finding Barb's murderers and _avenging_ her death.

But that was for later. She couldn't do that while her wound was still a wound, not yet a scar. So she nodded eagerly, watching as Jonathan and Steve yanked on their interlocked hands, flopping into the water. She swam towards them and splashed water as soon as their heads came up.

That night, laughter rang throughout Steve Harrington's backyard, like it had a few months ago. This time, the Upside Down wouldn't get to anyone. This time, there were just three teens, floating in the water, floating in their feelings, on the verge of something better.

There was Nancy, living. And for the first time in awhile, she didn't feel guilty for each breath she took that her best friend couldn't. She just felt determined to make it matter. 

**Author's Note:**

> ramble below, if ur gonna leave, thanks for reading and have a lovely day
> 
> HA u thought i'd write something holiday-related????? NO take this trash and enjoy it
> 
> my hair's already short, but i felt certain Things last week, so i just! wrote this. i reaaaaaaaally don't know if i handled any of the grief well, but like????????????????? do i care????????????????? yes. yes i do. i still like giving Nancy's haircut some weight and this was very cathartic. i also have had MAJOR writer's block so what a delight this was.
> 
> also, i've never written a stoncy thing w/out them being a Thing. someone give me a medal. 
> 
> hope y'all are doing well!! holidays can be weird, so please take care of yourself and queue up your favourite show's holiday episodes, like i'll be, and remember that the winter solstice passed, and our sunlight's coming back to us.
> 
> i'm at trulyalpha on tumblr. come say hi. :)


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